


the most cliche time of year

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Claire Ships It, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Sam Ships It, deancas christmas minibang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:24:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5406389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the first of December, when Castiel asked Dean if they could put up a Christmas tree.</p><p>Or, Cas gets a bit too into the holiday spirit, and Dean definitely doesn't find it adorable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the most cliche time of year

It was the first of December when Castiel asked Dean if they could put up a Christmas tree.

Let the record state that Dean Winchester was not a Christmas person. How could he be? It’s not like his father had ever let him and Sammy engage in such frivolity.

(Then again – it’s not like John had been around much during the holidays, anyway.)

The last Christmas he’d really experienced was a time many years ago, when he believed he was destined for an eternity in Hell; thoughts of the holiday season often struck a chord he didn’t like to be played.

And with all the apocalypse’s the Winchesters’ had to fend off – be it archangels, demons, God or The Darkness – Christmas just didn’t mean a thing in the grand scheme of things.

Christmas was for those who had the ‘apple-pie life’, a life each Winchester had tried and failed at miserably.

The only memory Dean had of something close to Christmas was the winter of of ‘99, when he took a job shovelling snow in exchange for just $10 a session. He’d saved for the majority of fall and winter, keeping the money a secret, so he could buy a new laptop to satisfy Sam’s penchant for research and nerdiness.

In summary: Dean Winchester was _not_ the embodiment of merriment. Not by a long shot.

He blinked slowly, brought back to reality by Cas clearing his throat, not hearing what he’d apparently said.

“A what?”

“A Christmas tree.” Cas repeated tentatively. “The search engine on Sam’s laptop showed me that they are tall and usually green, although artificial coloring can make them-”

“Cas, I know what a Christmas tree is.” Dean interrupted, and the former angel furrowed his brow.

“Yet, you seem to be displaying signs of obvious befuddlement.”

“Well, yeah.” Dean folded his arms, surveying Cas. “Why do you want a Christmas tree?”

Cas tilted his head to the side, eyebrow raised.

“I wish to celebrate the holiday season correctly.” He answered, as though it should have been obvious.

“We don’t do Christmas.” Dean stated, shaking his head.

“I assume that that is because your living situations were hardly adequate. _That_ and the fact you both have a tendency to suffer almost deaths quite frequently.” Cas said with a slight air of annoyance, and Dean bit back a snort.

“In a nutshell.” He said instead.

“Well, your living conditions are currently preferable,” he gestured to the bunker, as though Dean needed a visual presentation. “And there isn’t a threat to humanity that can’t wait a while.” Castiel gave a shy smile – and Dean returned it, glad to see such a human mannerism.

“So, what? You wanna holly jolly it up?” Dean queried.

“Yes.” Cas said resolutely (albeit confused). “I would like to, as you say, _‘holly jolly it up.’_ ”

Dean chuckled a little, rolling his eyes.

“God, you’re such a dork.” He mumbled, before sighing. “Look, I’m not going to promise that we’ll actually pull it off – but, I guess if you really want it, we can get a tree.’”

After all, how hard it could it be?

+

Really, _really_ fucking hard, apparently.

 _This_ tree was too small. _That_ tree was too tall. The one in the back didn’t have _enough_ leaves, and the one in the front had _too_ many. The other one _wouldn’t hold enough decorations, don’t be silly, Dean._

Cas, apparently, was an indecisive little shit who needed to just make up his goddamn mind and pick one already.

“It has to be perfect.” He said insistently, and Dean gritted his teeth at Sam’s almost immediate response of chuckling.

“You are absolutely no help.” Dean informed his brother bitterly, and was met with a mere shrug combined with a suppressed smirk.

Castiel seemed to be unaware of their antics, as he walked stiffly through the spacious tent. Dean cocked his head to the side, observing the unnatural way that Cas had stuck his hands in his pocket – almost as if he were trying to look human.

Dean raised an eyebrow warily, but didn’t comment.

“How about this one?” Cas asked, and Dean narrowed his eyes.

It wasn’t all that special, not really – but it had a factor that separated it from the others: several scarlet flowers were attached to it.

“It’s got mistletoe.” Sam noted, and Dean internally groaned. Of course Cas would cluelessly choose the one with mistletoe. That was just his luck.

“I’ve never seen a Christmas tree with mistletoe on it, Cas. It’s probably got some weird bug thing.” Dean shook his head, and Cas seemed considerably dejected.

“Actually,” a woman popped up, smiling brightly. “We’ve _placed_ the mistletoe on the tree, because we had some extra.”

Cas brightened, looking at Dean hopefully. The latter sighed, running a hand across his face.

“ _Fine._ Whatever. We can get the stupid tree.” He mumbled, and the woman nodded, directing Sam and Cas over to the cashier.

Dean noticed the lady staring at him from the corner of his eye. He turned, and met a knowing smile.

“You’re not a very festive person, are you?”

Dean snorted.

“Yeah, it’s all just: ‘bah, humbug’ with me.” He quipped, and she laughed.

“But you're letting him buy a Christmas tree?” The woman replied, and Dean’s gaze trailed over to Cas, whose eyes were bright with excitement as Sam handed over a fake credit card to the cashier.

“The poor guy just really wanted a tree.” Dean answered a little absentmindedly, letting his eyes scan his friend; happiness looked good on him. He ignored the nagging in his gut that told him to stop staring, instead relishing the way Cas looked in the dim light of the tent.

“Aww, that’s adorable. I wish I was lucky enough to have a boyfriend like you, your partner there is such a lucky man.” The woman gushed. “Couples are the cutest during the holidays.”

Dean’s head snapped over to the lady, and he was about to correct her bluntly, but was interrupted when she skipped over to Sam and Cas – too far away for him to assure her that he was _not_ dating Cas without having the angel himself hear it.

And – more importantly – if Sam heard, he would never let Dean hear the end of it. And that was not going to happen. No innuendos from anybody, _no siree._

“I expect you two to take advantage of that mistletoe!” The woman chimed, throwing in a playful wink. Sam nearly choked on his hot cocoa whilst Cas faced Dean, expression confused and mouth already forming a question that he did not want to answer.

Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother, and Dean wondered what the odds of the floor opening up and swallowing him were.

With his luck? Slim to none.

+

Dean practically blasted the radio, hoping that his deposition and the music were enough to drown out Sammy’s taunts and Cas’ queries. He definitely wasn’t in the mood to be Dr. Phil-ed by his younger brother and… whatever Cas was.

“Dean?” The said angel called, and instead of replying, Dean opted to turn up the current song even louder, hoping that Cas would take the hint.

_“Dean?”_

Well, so much for that.

“C’mon, Dean,” Sam urged from the passenger seat. “I don’t think that woman would be too happy with the way you’re treating your boo.”

Dean grimaced, his stomach churning. The joke shouldn’t have upset him – people made jokes about Dean and Cas all the time. He clearly remembered Balthazar stating that Cas was in love with him, as well as Meg reminding him that he was ‘his boyfriend first’ – not to mention when Claire has asked him to look after Cas as if he was his damn _wife._

Now that he thought back, those remarks had never bothered him. They just left him with this… odd feeling. And although Dean couldn’t pinpoint what it was, he knew it had been magnified tenfold as his knuckles whitened against the wheel.

Of course he cared about Cas – more than he let on. Because that’s just who he was: he hid how he felt. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d said the actual words _‘I love you,’_ to his own brother – somebody he very clearly adored.

It just felt that if Dean said it, he’d be giving the other person the power to break him.

Remaining silent was the Winchester way, and Cas was no exception to this rule. Even if Dean’s stance on their relationship changed.

…Which it _hadn’t._

He turned off the car engine as they reached the bunker – and then told himself he was clearly overthinking all of this, before pointedly ignoring Sam and Cas, and shutting himself in his room to begin the process of repressing his feelings.

There had to be some beer around here, right?

+

Dean heard a soft rap on the door, and he rolled over on to his side, facing the wall. He’d deal whoever it was in the same way he dealt with his problems – he didn’t.

It was to no avail it seemed, for Dean heard another more impatient knock on the door, preceded by the sound of a door opening.

He could already tell it was Cas – his brother knew better than to try and weasel Dean into paying attention. Despite the fact this mighty being had recreated him down to the last atom, he was really fucking clueless about Dean’s needs.

Castiel didn’t call out, didn’t show that he had even come in here for Dean at all. Which meant that he clearly knew Dean was awake.

Well, maybe Cas would get bored and leave.

Dean lay on his bed, trying to seem natural, feeling Cas’ eyes on him. His ears perked up at the sound of something settling itself down – and, _oh my God,_ the asshole had gotten a freaking chair.

“I really _friggin’_ hate you.” Dean grumbled, shoving his face into his pillow.

“Charlie told me that lying makes your nose elongate.” Cas answered, and Dean twisted to face him.

“How hilarious of you to point out.” He sniped, and Cas quirked his eyebrow, amused.

“Yes,” he answered, licking his lips, “I thought so, as well.”

Teaching an angel of the lord sarcasm hadn’t been their greatest idea, in hindsight. Dean sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair as he sat up.

“What do you want, Cas?” He asked grumpily.

Castiel squinted at him.

“You have been acting in a peculiar manner, Dean.” He explained, tilting his head to the side in the endearing way he did – and, _crap,_ could he not do that? It wasn’t doing Dean any favors.

“Yeah, well, so have you.” Dean countered, and Cas’ eyebrows knotted together.

“How so?”

Dean bit his lip.

“I don’t know, man. You’ve just been… acting differently. All this newfound Christmas spirit? It’s like you’re _trying_ to act like a human.” He accused, and Cas gave him a sad yet resigned look.

“I believe the term is ‘guilty as charged.’” He paused. “Dean, my grace is fading. _I_ am fading.”

“Can’t you call up your angel buddies, see what they can do?”

Castiel scoffed.

“I hardly have any allies in heaven. Its fine, I wouldn’t want to, anyways.” That was a lie, Dean knew. “I chose…” Cas’ eyes shifted upwards to meet his. “Humanity.”

Dean nodded in understanding, but there was something about the way Cas was looking at him that made his heart pound a tattoo into his ribcage.

“I guess you can call this my way of integrating into everyday life.” Castiel finished.

Dean looked down, unable to hold the other man’s gaze any longer; though his angelic essence was fading, he could be just as intimidating as when they first met.

Cas was doing this to fit in. Which was really fucking insane, because Cas couldn’t _ever_ fit in – he was too _Cas_ to be anything but just that. Too dorky, too cute, too goddamn oblivious to the majority of the world.

Dean didn’t want him to be anything else.

“Dean,” Cas began, slowly, voice lilted upwards in question, “What exactly is the deal with mistletoe?” He sounded genuinely curious, and that made sense, with the huge fuss that had been made about it.

Dean rolled his eyes, because why couldn’t Cas just ask Sam?

And then his really unhelpful mind began to provide him with mental images of his brother helping Castiel understand what mistletoe was – with very visual demonstrations – and something in the bottom of his stomach twisted.

No way he was gonna let _that_ happen.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, or _whatever,_ because in strode Sammy – humming in agreement to someone on his phone.

“Uh, yeah, I think that’s okay, Jody.” Sam scrunched his nose, looking between Cas and Dean. “Er, happy holidays?”

Hanging up, he looked up at the two cautiously, almost as if he thought he were interrupting something.

“Claire might be coming over for Christmas. She’d never admit it, but she misses Cas.” Sam beamed at the angel, and Dean frowned.

“That sounds pleasant.” Castiel commented, before looking over at Dean, sighing heavily, and standing up. “I’ll…” He frowned. “What was the phrase? Shoot her an eloquently crafted message at a later time.”

Dean was positive that was _not_ the phrase.

Cas made his way out, practically teeming with excitement at the thought of seeing his sort-of daughter. Sam watched him walk out of the room, before turning to his brother, clearly amused.

“I think he just tried to say ttyl.”

+

December of 2015 would go down in Winchester history as the month in which Dean was the unluckiest son of a bitch there ever was.

He was trying to avoid Cas, trying to avoid _everything,_ while simultaneously trying to figure out what the fuck everything _was._

And yet, it seemed as though the bunker had suddenly decided to become sentient, just to screw with him. Everywhere he turned, there was Castiel – his head tilted in that infuriatingly adorable way of his; his gaze wide in such a way that could challenge even Sam’s puppy eyes. No matter what Dean was doing, the damn angel would appear and ask him a damn question about Christmas.

 _God,_ Cas just had so many questions. About snowmen, about tree toppers, about ornaments, about wreaths, about gingerbread – about freaking _mistletoe_ especially, because he still didn’t understand. And something that Dean had learned about Cas was that he did not like to be confused.

(The irony of it was that he usually was.)

The worst part? A tiny part of Dean loved that Cas came to him, and only him. He could have just as easily asked Sam or Claire, who was very much present in the bunker. It’s like he only wanted answers from Dean.

That shouldn’t feel so pleasing.

It’s like Dean was suddenly hyper-aware of every little thing Castiel did. A tiny brush of fingers shot electricity up his entire body; a shoulder bump made him giddy for the next few hours.

Dean was a hunter, he knew how to reason. Placing himself in an objective point of view; if it was anybody else acting this way, he’d conclude that Person A had to have feelings for Person B.

Except, in real life, Person A was _him,_ and Person B was _Cas._

And that was just fucking impossible, because he couldn’t possibly be attracted to Castiel – he was a guy. Or, at least, in a male vessel. A male vessel that had its quirks, and its customs, and fuck it if Dean didn’t want to explore every single inch…

He placed his beer down on the map table, alarmed, because this train of thought was dangerous.

“Hey, old man.” Claire settled herself next to him, eyes set on her phone.

“Yo.”

This time, she did look up – mildly disgusted.

“Did you just say ‘yo’? Never say yo.” She scrunched her nose in an exaggerated manner of repulsion, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Your generation is so judgemental.”

“Your generation fucked up ours.” Claire answered accusingly, and Dean glared at her. Cas always got annoyed when she swore, and Dean knew he was supposed to tell her off, but he let it slide since the angel wasn’t loitering around anywhere near him for the first time in a few hours.

“How old do you think I am?” He demanded instead.

“How long ago were the dinosaurs?” The blonde provided, eyeing the beer bottle eagerly. “Can I finish that?”

Dean raised his eyebrows at the cheeky request, and pointedly moved the bottle away from Claire – because there was no way he was going to condone underage drinking, especially with Cas in Dad Mode.

God, he sounded like a dad himself.

“Maybe when you’re twenty-one.” Dean answered, looking away from her and over to Cas, who had entered the room and was looking at one of the tree ornaments curiously.

Claire sighed, slouching back on her chair languidly and following his gaze. She smirked knowingly.

“Subtlety? What even is subtlety?” She sniped, and Dean merely fixed his gaze on the table – staring at Venezuela, apparently – feeling too tired to come up with a retort.

The corner of Claire’s lips quirked downwards as she looked at Dean, perplexed.

“What, lover’s spat?” She inquired.

“Nah,” Dean waved her off. “Just coming to terms with some shit.” _Or, rather, refusing to._

Claire nodded, as she continued to look between Cas and Dean. Wordlessly, she stood up, and slid over to where the other man stood, peeking over his shoulder at the ornament.

Dean squinted, and recognized it as the angel, the one his mother loved – somehow John had saved it in the glove compartment of the Impala for years, and now the brothers’ had it. If he closed his eyes, if he tried hard enough, he could vaguely feel the stirrings of a memory. But no – that would hurt too much; he didn’t let himself tread any further.

He took another swig of beer instead.

Cas seemed to be listening intently to whatever Claire was saying; he seemed to grow indignant as she spoke. He turned with purpose, and rushed over to Dean.

“What is this?” He gestured towards the delicate ornament.

“A… Christmas decoration?” Dean answered, and Cas rolled his eyes in such a dramatic way that Dean was surprised they didn’t roll back permanently inside his skull.

“Yes,” he said impatiently, “I am aware that it’s a decoration. I mean, what is it of?”

“An angel.” Dean said slowly as Cas sighed.

“And this?” He pointed to the halo that rested just above the angel’s head, held high by two pieces of wire. _“What is this?”_

Dean bit his lip, unsure of why Cas was glaring at the ornament his mother had cherished, like it had slapped him on the side and stole his hamburger.

“It’s a halo, Cas. Y’know, like angels have?”

That, apparently, did not seem to make things better – for Castiel fixed his cerulean stare upon Dean.

“Angels – real angels – do not have halos. Or visible wings. _Or_ glitter.”

There was a beat of silence before Dean dissolved into laughter, nearly knocking over his bottle. Full of mirth, he drank the rest of his beer – then stood up in a wobbly manner, grabbed the ornament as well as a fist-full of Cas’ trenchcoat, and made his way over to the tree.

He turned to meet a stony Cas, glowering murderously.

Dean sobered considerably.

“Look, Cas, regular people don’t have a goddamn clue what actual angels look like.”

“Clearly.” Castiel said dramatically. Dean rolled his eyes before gingerly taking the ornament, a wave of nostalgia overcoming him.

“My mom loved this one, I think.” He said, and the crease between Cas’ eyebrows softened significantly.

He looked at the ornament as though it were precious. Something in Dean stirred, because he knew that look. That was a look he’d been thinking a lot about.

That was the look Cas always gave him.

And it was astounding how quickly Castiel’s demeanor had changed, all because Dean had revealed that the object the angel had been directing his frustration towards was important to him.

“You should place it on the tree, then.” Cas told him.

“Sure you won’t get too offended?” Dean teased. Castiel grumpily folded his arms.

“I can set aside my bias for you, Dean.”

Dean chuckled in response, hooking his finger around the tiny wire on top of the decoration and stepping closer to the tree – Cas following suit – and placed it on a high branch.

The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he bit his lip, admiring how the shiny halo glimmered. Castiel made a noise of approval.

“Well, won’t you look at that?”

Dean twisted to face Claire, who’s clear blue eyes were fixed on a point above them, lips curled mischievously. Even before he looked up, Dean knew what would be up there – that goddamn tree.

“Mistletoe.” Cas stated, eyes narrowed. “I am still not entirely clear on the tradition surrounding it.”

Dean felt his stomach churn, and he swivelled, ready to make a getaway; but, suddenly, there was Claire Novak, grabbing his sleeve and forcing him to face Cas.

“Well,” she began, slapping Dean in the back a little too hard – eliciting a brief frown, “When two people stand under the mistletoe, they have to kiss.” The blonde finished, shoving Dean closer to the other man.

Realization slowly dawned in Castiel’s ancient eyes, and Dean could practically feel him beginning to understand why the hunter had been so hesitant. He focused his intense gaze on Dean’s.

“Claire, please go find somewhere else to meddle.” He spoke firmly, Dad Mode apparently activated, and Claire sighed before shuffling out of the room.

“Dean,” Castiel said softly, and the gentleness in his voice alone made Dean’s knees weak.

“Cas.” Dean replied, tone barely above a breath.

“You should have told me. I wouldn’t have done anything against your wishes, I was merely curious.” Cas tilted his head to the side. “If the idea repulsed you that much-”

“No, that’s not it.” Dean interjected. Castiel stopped, considering what his friend had just said.

“I don’t understand.”

There was something about the way Cas said this, so helplessly, that reminded Dean of how alone he must feel. Slowly becoming a human, losing his wings.

It couldn’t be easy, and avoiding Cas had probably made the matter worse.

“Look, you should know by now that I’m not good at _this._ ” He gestured between him and Cas roughly. “I just…” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Came to a realization.”

Castiel frowned.

“What kind of realization?” He prodded impatiently.

“Here’s the thing; I’m a hunter.”

“I am aware.” Cas said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Right, well – obviously, things are going to be scary. They have to be. But, uh, just because something is terrifying… doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be discussed.” Dean cringed, and Cas picked up right where he left off.

“Of course. One should overcome their fears. Bottling them up does no good.” He summarized, and Dean broke eye contact, looking down and fiddling with his fingers.

He couldn’t do this.

He _had_ to do this.

“I’m willing to put myself on the line for the people I care about.” Dean continued. “You know what, Cas? You… You’re really high on that list.”

Castiel smiled tenderly.

“That I did not know.” He told him, and Dean chided himself for never telling Cas how important he was.

“Yeah, well, you are. And I’m willing to show you about traditions… to help make this easier.”

Castiel smirked, and Dean swallowed thickly, taking an uncertain step forward.

“I appreciate that.” Cas breathed, their faces infinitesimally close – and they both needed more, so much more. “But it is not necessary.”

“I know.” Dean answered, and Cas inched his face even closer; their breath was hot against each other’s, mingling together, and definitely not unpleasant against one another’s lips. Blue eyes zeroed in on Dean’s mouth, so full of desire.

How the hell had he missed that after all these years?

“It’s still your choice.”

Dean – for once in his life – didn’t hesitate, and closed the distance between himself and Cas – hands grabbing the sides of his lightly-stubbled jaw in desperation. It wasn’t entirely clear who kissed who; but their lips crashed together, and that’s all that mattered – reminiscent of a violent wave against a shore-line; all the built-up tension from the past few days culminating to form the epitome of satisfaction.

In other words; it was _fucking incredible._

Dean pulled back, breathing heavily, and took in Cas’ appearance – swollen lips, eyes wide and dewy with emotion. His hands were clutching tightly at Dean’s lapels.

“Dean,” Cas whispered hoarsely, as if out of all the words in the world, his name was his favorite. “I think you should explain mistletoe more thoroughly.”

Dean bumped their foreheads together, pressing another (more considerably chaste) kiss to the corner of Cas’ mouth; planning to memorise the shape of it in depth later.

“Happy to oblige.”

Needless to say, Christmas was looking a hell of a lot more promising.

**Author's Note:**

> a comment a day keeps the author at bay.  
> written for the destiel christmas minibang.  
> thanks to @lileanagenevieve and @clairebrovak on tumblr, for artwork and betaing, respectively.
> 
> tumblr - heavensclaire  
> ff.net - ClairesNovak


End file.
